


Freedom

by TurtleTotem



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: M/M, Post-Kings Rising, Rape Recovery, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 09:39:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8139367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurtleTotem/pseuds/TurtleTotem
Summary: When the slaves of Akielos are freed, there are two golden cuffs remaining. They could take them off—but Damen doesn't want to.





	

After almost a year, there were still nights Laurent drew away from him, mornings Damen woke to find himself kept at arms’ length by some instinct deep in the maze of Laurent’s mind. But the balance had long since tipped in favor of waking like this—Laurent’s back warm against Damen’s chest, golden dawn-tipped hair tickling his nose, Laurent’s fingers threaded through his like the endless laces that kept him secure inside his clothes.

Ordinarily they were both up with the sun; there was always something that needed royal attention, and Damen often grumpily thought that ruling jointly had somehow doubled the work rather than halving it. But for once, they had nothing planned until the announcement at noon. Damen doubted he could doze off again, with the sun already risen, but made up his mind to be still and let Laurent sleep as long as he would.

A noble intention spoiled, within moments, by Laurent himself, suddenly tense as a bowstring in his arms, heartbeat galloping against Damen’s hand on his chest. And this, too, was something that happened sometimes, but less and less often.

“It’s me,” Damen murmured, resisting the instinct to tighten his arms around Laurent—that might send him into a panic. “You’re safe. It’s just me.”

“Damianos,” Laurent whispered after a tense moment, and let out a shuddering breath that might, perhaps, have contained the hint of an ironic laugh. “I’m safe.”

“Always.” The bowstring-tightness had relaxed; Damen shifted, gathering Laurent closer into his chest. Laurent allowed it, relaxing further, the way he never would if anyone else could see. That trust was the greatest treasure of Damen’s kingdom.

“I dreamed,” Laurent said after a long silence. “I can barely remember it now. But I dreamed that… that Nicaise barreled in here and jumped on us, to wake us. Being as much of a pest as he could.”

“He was good at that.” Damen supposed it was not surprising that Laurent would have Nicaise on his mind today.

Laurent pushed the covers aside and sat up, letting in a draft. Damen grunted in displeasure and caught Laurent’s wrist.

“There’s no need to rise yet.”

“There’s no need to lie idly about, either.” Laurent shot him a glare over his shoulder, and he was so beautiful—sunlight gilding his creamy shoulders and tousled hair—that it stole Damen’s breath.

“I can think of a compromise between the two,” he said, letting a little mischief into his smile as he circled his thumb around the pulse point in Laurent’s wrist.

Laurent snorted. “Yes, you are a man who is always willing to… compromise.”

“You’re an admirably flexible negotiator, yourself.”

That won a full laugh, Laurent covering his eyes as if to shield himself from Damen’s nonsense.

“I don’t know why I reward your bad behavior, slave,” he muttered, letting Damen draw him back down into the bed.

“I was very poorly trained, you know.”

“Mmm.”

That was probably a sound of agreement, Damen thought, but it was hard to judge when he was being kissed so thoroughly.

****

“By the word of our Exalted King, Damianos,” rang Nikandros’ voice over the crowd, “and by the word of His Highness, King Laurent of Vere, we declare that every man, woman and child in Vere and Akielos is free.”

A stunned silence settled over the crowd.

“There went every last bit of your political capital,” Laurent murmured, far too low for any but Damen to hear him.

“Well-spent,” Damen replied.

“Only if it works.”

“That’s not in question.” Perhaps in Vere, people would find ways to defy the commands of their king—subtle, indirect ways—because Vere treated everything like a game to be won. Akielos did not operate that way. The people might riot, but they wouldn’t play fiddly games about it, and unless they were willing to outright depose and behead him, Damen would still be king when the riot was over.

“Slaves shall no more be taken nor sold nor trained within the borders of Akielos and Vere. By the passing of one month from today, all those currently enslaved must be provided a mutually desirable contract of paid employment, or permitted to go their way,” Nikandros continued.

No one would know, by the firm and certain timbre of his voice, that Nikandros had argued for hours against this course of action—not in its sentiment, though he had found that initially shocking, but in its execution. Damen was confident he had finally brought his old friend around, but even if Nikandros had reservations, he had still volunteered to read the declaration. It was for too momentous a task to leave to the usual heralds, and it wasn’t proper for a king to announce these things himself (though the reasons why had proven fiendishly hard to articulate to Laurent).

“The age of legal consent for contracts is sixteen years. Slaves below the age of sixteen must be returned to their families, adopted as legal wards of their former owners with royal permission, or brought to the custody of the king, accompanied by a dowry to provide for their care. This applies also to those already under contract in either kingdom.”

In Akielos, that last sentence would barely register. In Vere, Damen fervently hoped it had just struck panic and dismay into the heart of every man or woman who shared the former Regent’s proclivities. The royal clerks who would be processing grants of custody—either to former masters or to the king—had been strictly instructed not to let any child remain in the household of such people. Laurent had very helpfully provided a checklist of signs to look for, in the behavior of both child and master.

“Any person found to be keeping or selling slaves past one month from today will be guilty of breaking the king’s law,” Nikandros continued, raising his voice slightly as murmurs began to move through the crowd, “and subject to imprisonment, disgrace, the lash, or the sword, as the king’s judgment rules.” Ceremonially, he rolled up the parchment he had read from, and bowed. “Our Exalted King, Damianos, rejoices in the freedom of his people.”

The noise from the crowd continued to rise as Damen and Laurent withdrew from the dais. It was hard to identify the emotional tenor of it; surprise seemed to be predominant, but anger and alarm were certainly in the mix as well. For the briefest moment, Damen wondered if Nikandros had been right, if it was too early in his reign for such a massive change, if he had indeed bet too much political capital too soon…

Then he caught sight, at the edge of the crowd, of two young girls with gold collars, weeping in each other’s arms. The younger one had bruises on her face. The elder saw Damen watching them, and bowed as low as she could without breaking her embrace with the other girl, her face alight with joy and hope.

_Well-spent_ , he thought again, _even if I have spent it all_.

****

There was always something that needed royal attention, and that day more than most. The moon was past its zenith before Damen closed the door to the bedchamber behind them.

Laurent stalked across the room to the cups of wine laid out for them; his was always watered, but still he rarely touched it. Tonight he tossed it back in one long gulp.

Damen didn’t think it had been _that_ long a day. But Laurent had grown steadily more waspish and prickly as the hours wore on into night, and Damen thought perhaps he hadn’t slept well. After all, though he’d seemed peaceful at first that morning, he’d woken badly, and mentioned troubled dreams…

Damen approached him slowly, not cautious as such but gentle, and began unlacing the back of his jacket.

“You don’t,” Laurent began, checked and started again. “You know you don’t have to do that.” Was it a question or a statement?

Damen frowned, but did not pause. “Yes.”

Laurent sidled out from under his hands. “I don’t expect anything like that from you. I don’t expect—”

“Laurent.” Damen brushed the backs of his fingers down Laurent’s cheek, where it was half-turned away from him, barely visible. _“I_ expect you to be still and let me enjoy my favorite part of the day.”

Laurent gave him a brief, startled glance, but stepped back to let Damen continue unlacing. When the jacket was off, Damen turned him around and began unlacing the front of his shirt.

Laurent reached up and caught his wrist—wrapped his hand around the gold cuff there. Its twin on his own arm gleamed in the unsteady light from the fireplace. “We could take these off. Say, a month from today. The end of all slavery in Akielos.”

“We could,” Damen said slowly. “If you find it a burden.”

“But you don’t want to.”

“No.” He pulled Laurent’s hand to his lips, kissed the pulse point near the edge of the cuff. “I want them to be the last ones left in either kingdom. Worn because we choose to wear them.”

“You would choose to wear it.”

“I _do_ choose to wear it. Just like I choose to do this,” he pulled at the shirt laces one-handed, which proved messy but effective, “and this.” He leaned forward to kiss the skin over Laurent’s collarbone, now revealed. Laurent shivered, and Damen would gladly have pressed onward—but made himself pull back.

Damen had chosen to keep his slave cuff when he was freed from Laurent’s service. _Sentiment_ , as Laurent had said. But the one Laurent wore—

“I ambushed you with it,” Damen admitted. “I knew you could not refuse without undermining yourself. I don’t regret it, it was a move fairly made. But I’ve no desire to keep it on you by force. You’re right, this is the perfect time for its removal.”

“No,” Laurent whispered. “I can choose to be yours, as you choose to be mine.”

Laurent had laced their fingers tightly together, Damen realized. He made sure to keep them that way as Laurent pulled him onto the bed, the matching cuffs clinking together as they moved.


End file.
